If It’s Not Scottish It’s Crap, Ketchup Takes on Mustard

First off let’s give it up to NIKE (that’s NIKE), for ditching that unrecognizable “swoosh” symbol for, simply, the name of their company in caps on Serena’s bag. I say, fuck logos all together. From now on I think all advertising should just roll with the name of the company…in caps, and make their products bigger so they can write their company name bigger. Maybe that’s why we’re getting fatter! So they can write their name bigger on our clothes. Fuck! Is your mind blown yet? Is your blow pop blown? Let’s hope so. Torn yellow dresses, precariously cut red dresses? Am I at the Ponderosa. Nah, this is the big apple, this is how they do it! So let’s go!!! Ketchup versus Mustard!!!

Isha Williams. What can I say about her that hasn’t already been mentioned at fat camps around the world. What a specimen. Seriously, if there was ever a hybrid of offspring, Serena is it. Her dad was in the bathroom right before conception (parent sex), like, “okay, one drop of skinny sperm, one drop of whale sperm…and voila!!!!!). Sorry had to throw that in somewhere.

So yeah, not much happened in the first except a major fucking smack down on all fronts by Serena. I understand Jankohead is charming and smiles and has fun like a giggly 6-year-old out there, but can we focus on the black half of the court for a minute, you grand wizzards of ass cakery? Cameras and talks we’re barely on her…and she was up the whole damn match. I’m starting to see why she’s so touchy after a loss (and a win!). And how does Serena’s defensive game come off looking so offensive? I’ll tell you why (i.e. I’ll be a weird, answer-my-own-question-guy), she pulls off those points that no one else can. No one is talking though, ’cause she plays each point out methodically, and it’s not ’til the last shot that she crams it down your fucking throat (which you may or may not like depending upon which way you swing).

Did you read Serena’s lips after she dropped a point at 1-1 in the first? She seriously whispered to herself, “I’ll finish you.” I think it was after she lost a point off a net cord. That’s some scary shit. Can you imagine flipping her off in traffic. Eighty miles later you’d see her in your rear view swerving across the double yellow and shit. Meanwhile Jankohead is watching sitcoms up on the big screen. C’mon mustard, some people are counting on you, namely your mom and dudes in red wigs!

The match really went back and forth all night. One minute Mustard looked like RAFA! out there, getting whooped on, and fighting and scratching for each point on serve. Then she’d go from 0-40 to deuce in four simple steps. Extremely hard to see where the match was going, oh except for the struggling and the splits, and the laughing. Ya’ know how sometimes you’ll be eating a hamburger and you’re like, “ketchup is soooooo much better than mustard.” Then you get that random combo bite of pickle and mustard and you’re like, “this bite is on like a 6 foot bong.” That’s pretty much how I felt watching this one. Janko had her chances (they were coming in by the truckload), but overall, Serena and that big ol’ pooh factory dominated. There was also a lot of talk about how these two like the big stage. Well, Janko better start playing like she’s a main condiment. You’re not mayo, or horseradish! You’re not relish! You’re mustard biatch! Stop doing the splits, smiling, looking at yourself, checking out some old man hack who thinks he’s funny, and asking you’re mom where the knish’s are! There aren’t any bigger stages than this, pay attention.

Who the fuck was sitting to Venus’ left? Hot as hell might be a few degrees off.

As Mustard was serving in the 2nd set I kept taking bets on what would happen first: a Mustard hold, or an old white guy to win the presidency based on offshore drilling in 2008. Luckily Mustard held quite a few times, but I’m still worried about weird old white guy whose face is falling off.

And what is up with Dickberg and his obsession with trying to predict stuff as it’s happening! I’ve been over this before, but for those new to my site/reality, it’s not really a prediction if you call it while watching it. It’s also not a prediction if you present both sides as being possible. Also, it’s not a a prediction if you state a fact that is well within the realm of being possible. So at 5-4 with Mustard serving at 30-0 he barfed, “She’s 6 points away from winning the set.” Sure, technically, he’s right. But do you know how far away that was in theory?! If you punched those calculations into Stephen Hawking’s computer his wheelchair would’ve self-destructed. And now that I’m able to hate on him in hind sight I guess I’ll add that that moment was so far off it never came.

Quick question. If Mustard hit one into the stands would she have challenged? Girl challenges balls that land in the parking lot. Need a breather much? It’s not if it hits a white line, but thee white line.

Ketchup out squirts Mustard, 6-4, 7-5. I wish I had taken better notes as some of her shots we’re so subtle yet so jaw dropping I wondered just where my mind had been blown to. Anyway, it doesn’t matter ’cause she’ll be over tonight, so we can rap about it over some smoked duck and gogurt. From what I hear she’s #1. I already have my “Number 1” banner out. Hope she likes (I live outside by the way)!

And then God created man. Well, two men. He created a funny looking Scott, and a funny looking Spaniard. They both think they’ve got huge muscles (one wears, get this, sleeveless shirts, the other flexes his blobicep in public…not exactly “in God’s image”). So yeah, the dudes took two days. Something tells me, with all the matches Candy Cane’s been playing as of late, Murray could’ve beat him with his teeth tied behind his back. I can’t really comment on this match too much as, for me, it ended eons ago (literally after day one). Murray bit into the Candy Cane, 6-2, 7-6, 4-6 (this happened after RAFA! got an entires day rest, imagine the straightness that would’ve occurred if they ended the match on Saturday), 6-4.

If I see one more photo of people yelling or with their mouths open in anger I might just do the same. Seriously, have you checked out the U.S. Open’s home yelling page? What would those web designers do without rain delays or people yelling with their mouths wide open? Jagoff I bet.

Oh, did you hear? Federer won!

Thanks to the idiotic scheduling of the men’s final (2 o’ clock on the west coast?????????????——>?????????more????????????????*) I may not be able to post on the final ’til tuesday. But I guarantee** it’ll be worth the wait. Thanks for coming back! I know I’m a flake (and a hooch hound).